Senseless Scribbling of an Idiot #20

Seduced By the Dark Side Are You
Okay, so let’s talk about the random ass dream I had last night.  But before I do that, I must tell you that I have been watching the Six Episodes of Star Wars back to back to back for about two weeks now.  I get on these random fixations where I watch the same movies repeatedly.  I have no idea why I do that.  It must be because after like 4 years, I finally found the disc A New Hope which had been missing all that time.  I just popped it in right away, watched that, then Episode V and VI.  For shit’n’giggles I put in I, II and III, then I started all over again. 

I don’t have the Star Wars sextology (is that a word?) to be scary at all, even though I am really sensitive to gore and violence depicted in movies.  Two weeks ago my friends dragged me to see that horrid movie My Bloody Valentine, and last night I had this dream that Darth Vader was the evil miner and he was chasing me all over the Death Star.  You know how villains never run in horror films, they just walk exceptionally fast, and that’s what he was doing.  Then the power somehow went out, because the Death Star would run out of power or whatever, and I couldn’t see him just hear him breathing.  Ya’ll know how Darth Vader breathes. 

[imitates Darth Vader breathing]

Like that.  Then it was dead silent, and I thought he left but he was right behind me!  He started breathing and I started screaming and running.  That shit felt so real.  I ran out into the part of the Death Star where Luke was when he found out that Darth Vader was his father.  I was hanging onto some poles and he was coming after me. 

As I describe this, does anybody get the feeling that I have serious issues?

I don’t have a light sabre or anything or some Jedi mind tricks, and I was hanging on to the thing and he was like, “No, I am your father.”  And then I woke up.  I was breathing all hard and shit.  What kind of jackass has a nightmare about Darth Vader?  I need therapy.

Let’s All Go to the Gyno, and Your Grandma Still Don’t Need a Job

So, Monday I went to the doctor for that bothersome yearly deal.  I know everyone’s like, Oh my God, no she is not about to talk about going to the gyno.  And actually, I’m not going to outline every intricate, intimate detail of visiting a gynocologist.  Because, really, do we really need to know all of that?  Actually, I want to talk about why your grandmother doesn’t need a job, part III.

So, I go to check in and everything and the lady was like, “You’re going to have two nurses today, is that okay?  We have a new system and we want to train everyone as quickly as possible.”

Yeah, sure whatever.

So enter Chinese Grandma and African Grandma.  They are mad old.  Chinese Grandma is the oldest in that weird way that Asian people get really, really old.  African Grandma is a little younger.  Neither one of them speak any English.

I go over to their nurse’s station where they do my blood pressure and all that other shit, like I’m about to fall over and die in the gyno office.  They open up this laptop with their new computer system.  Previously, they did everything on paper.  You know, I am a big fan of If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It.

All these old women that work in this office were probably midwives at the turn of the century and I don’t mean the 21st century, I mean the 19th century back during the Civil War and shit.  (Wait a minute….. Yeah… no wait… no, no, yeah.)

I don’t know why they just didn’t input all the records in the system on their own time.  I’ve already answered all these preliminary questions before.  I’m XX years old and this is not my first time going to the damn doctor.  But Chinese Grandma is like, “Okay, we gonna ask you question to put in computer, see?”

Yeah.  Whatever.

Start with name, age, date of birth, usual shit.  Then they start asking all those type of questions.  You know.

Chinese Grandma asks the questions.  African Grandma navigates (poorly) the computer.

I am not embarrassed to answer questions like these, largely because my life sucks so much that I don’t really ever have any interested responses.  Most of the time, it’s, “No,” or “Never.”  Especially when two old ass women are asking the questions.

But it’s the way the questions were asked that was making me giggle like some schoolgirl, and the responses they were giving me and saying to each other while they were fucking with their computer.  Way to make me feel like a total loser.  Thanks.

When last time you have intercourse?  Uhm, yeah, it’s been a minute.

Chinese Grandma looks at me like, “Ooh, you suck.”

Do you  have partner now?

African Grandma says, “She no have sex.  No partner.  No boyfriend.  No nothing.”

Uhm, actually, I didn’t say I didn’t have a boyfriend, but for the record, no, no I don’t have a boyfriend.

Chinese Grandma looks at me like, “So sad.”

Do you have multiple partner?

African Grandma says, “She have NO partner!”  Did you just want to go ahead and answer the questions for me?  I’ll just wait in the lobby.

Do you have anal sex?

To be quite honest, I didn’t entirely understand Chinese Grandma.  She is staring at me and she says, “You know, like-a butt sex.  In the butt?”

Yeah, I know what the fuck that is, and no, I don’t!

African Grandma starts shaking her head.  Chinese Grandma is smiling and I’m wondering what the fuck is so funny.

Do you prostitute?  Uhm, that would be a big no.

Ever have sex for money or the drug?  Isn’t that the same as prostitution?  No.

Chinese Grandma asked me about 12 other random questions about sex, all of which the answers were No.  For some reason, I thought not having multiple partners or having sex for drug money was a good thing.  Apparently not.

The crazy thing was that African Grandma kept messing up the computer and Chinese Grandma kept asking me the same questions over and over again so the other lady could retype it in the computer.  She kept highlighting the fact that I didn’t have a sexual partner.  Like, she said it about 15 times.  Okay, we get the point.  I’m a loser.  Thanks.

Then when they finally finish, the Chinese Grandma says, “Oh, this not so hard.  Very easy because she don’t have much to her.”

African Grandma says, “You very boring girl.  That’s good.  That’s very good.  Stay out of trouble.”

Very boring girl?  Not much to me?  Thanks, thanks a lot.  If you need me, I’ll be out in my car asphyxiating myself.

This is exactly why your grandma don’t need a job because she doesn’t know how to remain impersonal!  So when I start whoring myself out for drug money, I’m going to blame it on the doctor’s office.


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